Why Comedy Is Dangerous – A Cautionary Tale About The Funniest Man Alive

When you write comedy you always feel like you’re not as funny as you’re supposed to be. Except occasinally, when you make youself laugh hysterically. Usually, though, you’re the only one laughing.

Part of what you have to confront to write comedy are three tenets about your own humanity:

1) Nobody likes me.

2) I am afraid if I am not funny, nobody will continue to like me.

3) If I try too hard to be funny, nobody will like me.

Pretty much a Kobayashi Maru of comedy.

Your funny reputation and the resulting hyperbole about it will set people up for massive disappointment. These stoic, unhappy faces will remind you of the view from your crib. Take, for example, the time the funniest guy I ever knew came to visit me in college.

The funniest man alive’s name is Jonathon Cooper. And he *is* funny. He used to make all the guys in high school laugh when we’d go out riding on our bikes drinking purple Jesus.

But, in univeristy I sawthe tragedy of comic expectation before my eyes when Jon came to visit my residence. For WEEKS before Jon arrived another high school friend of ours walked around the residence halls crowing “The funnies guy EVER is coming! You won’t stop laughing the whole time he’s here. Wait til you meet him! Oh, he’s amazing” You’d think Chan-o (nickname, don’t ask) was standing on a sidewalk in front of a nickelodeon trying to fill seats in the place.

So, a few weeks passes, and everyone is abuzz with the impending arrival of the funniest man alive. (Jon *is* funny. Have I mentioned that?)

Jon arrives at 11pm on a Friday night, after four hours cramped between a greyhound window and a large, sleeping passenger who’d leaned on him the entire journey. Jon is tired. Jon carries two giant, heavy duffel bag. Jon trudges up the res steps, down the hall and into our residence room where he finds a sea of fifteen faces looking at him. The whole floor (and a few guys from other floors) had been waiting antsily in their chairs and sitting on the floor for Jon’s arrival.

Jon: “Hey. Chan-o”

He drops his bags.

Chano-O: “This is him! He’s so funny! Go on, Jon. Make us laugh!”

Everyone’s heads turn to Jon. He looks at Chan-O then back at the audience.

There is a long silence. Chan-O laughs nervously.

“Yeah, be funny!” someone yells from the back (seriously).

Exepctant smiles as they lean forwards, hands on their knees, like kids on Christmas morning. Except, as you guessed, Jon’s got nothin’. He’s been put on the spot hasn’t a goddamned clue what to say. I cringe watching the situation collapse inward on itself.

Jon just stands there.

One by one the audience members give up.  They glare at Chan-O as they go back to bed (Chan-O had woken them with a Paul Revere like ride through the halls). Jon tries to smile at them politely as the edge past him out the door. He apologises for his bags as one person trips over them.

I sit there, rapt at the pathos I am witnessing. It’s epic.

Uncomfortably, thirteen more people file out. Chano-O tries to make some light banter. The last person slams the door hard on the way out.

That was it. Jon *did* spend the rest of the weekend cracking everyone (including those initial audience members) up with his imitation of ChanO’s ill advised hyping of his arrival. I did tell you Jon is funny.

The lesson I got that day is that comedy wilts under expectation, or pressure to please an outside master. We must be funny, first and foremost, for ourselves. When we do that, we can stay out of our heads enough to find the vein of funny in everything around us. When we *try* to be funny, however, it’s just fear of falling on our face. Of humiliation. Of not being liked. Chano-O tried to be liked by promising everyone Jon would be funny for them, and it failed.

It's really *him*! Follow Jon at therealjoncooper on Twitter!

We tried to milk Jon like a comedy cow for his joke milk from his fun udders and his chuckle-tits, and his laugh nipples, and all like that. But you can’t lead a cow to water… or something like this.

I will leave you with a confusing quote:

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says “But Doctor… I am Pagliacci.”  -Watchmen